


Some Enchanted Morning

by colavaria



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Dancing Steve Rogers, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Good Boyfriend Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Shakira - Freeform, Sleepy Cuddles, Steve Rogers Feels, Television Watching, because that needs to be a warning, boyfriend!au, steve loves museums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 23:33:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13398624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colavaria/pseuds/colavaria
Summary: You find love at first sight with Steve, and not quite in the way you expected.





	Some Enchanted Morning

**Friday, 7:15 pm  
**

Everyone prays.  Everyone has their reasons, too: wanting to be closer to a religious figure, for protection, hope, or the last slice of pizza. Whether they know it or not, they pray.

Including you, devoutly, for the L train to hurry its metal butt up.  

All you wanted was to get home to Brooklyn, and as that wouldn’t happen without having faith in the being that controlled the rails, you urged the oil gods to make the rails smooth and quick and whatever else the metal butt needed to move fast.  You had to take the L train, but if you could help it, you didn’t want to  _take the L._ Here’s to hoping your prayers convinced it to come on time. 

Your week had gone terribly. Today worst of all. A stockbroker on Wall Street, you had a high-stress job to begin with, and then add in the impatient dealers and buyers wanting to get their trades in before the long weekend and it became almost unbearable.  You’d never been so happy to yell TGIF to your coworkers the second the clock struck seven and you could leave.  

“Finally,” you mumbled as the L train glided into the station, two minutes behind schedule, better than usual. Few people joined you on the train so it was easy to fall into the seat of your choice. You debated resting your overworked head against the grimy window but decided against it. Of course, to add on to the week, you had forgotten your headphones, so daydreaming would have to pass the forty-five minute commute.

You couldn’t deny New York was a pretty fantastic city, its transit system notwithstanding; the view while crossing the bridge into Brooklyn was stellar. However, the further the train got away from the city of bright lights and no sleep the more you could feel yourself relaxing, a smile even appearing for the first time in hours.  That smile stayed on while you stepped over the threshold of your apartment, inhaling the scent of home that you missed so terribly.  You felt better, but not quite good enough, so you texted your boyfriend seeing if he wanted to come over for a late dinner.

Spaghetti was boiling on the stove when Steve let himself in, whistling.  Your face lit up when you noticed him toe off his shoes and approach you for a much-needed hug.

Another prayer of yours: that he never runs out of hugs. Somehow they make everything better.

“Hi honey.” Steve pulled you into his side while you stirred the pasta and he pecked your forehead. “How was your day?”

You groaned in answer.

“That bad, huh?”

“So bad…I’ve never been happier to be home. Rumlow was breathing over my shoulder all day about the new account I picked up, and he only stopped after I threatened to staple his tie to the desk.  God,” you exhaled, going over to the sink to drain the pasta, “please give me the strength to do it one day.”

Steve’s chuckle echoed as he moved to the next room to set the table. “I don’t know why he’s the favourite in your office, he sounds like a jerk.”

“He is. Please ask my boss that at the next holiday party, if you do I’ll do anything you want.”

Steve poked his head through the kitchen doorway to look at you with a goofy expression. “Anything?”

“Mind out of the gutter, Rogers!”

“You said it, not me,” he winked, his playful grin disappearing.  Once they were cool, you scooped up the noodles and poured tomato sauce over them. You handed Steve a plate when you sat down at the table, him picking up his fork and twirling the spaghetti immediately.  Looking up, he laughed when you tossed your napkin at him.

“I meant going to see the exhibit at the Smithsonian you’ve been talking about!”

“Are you sure?”

You tried to look away to stop a laugh from bubbling up except he was so cute you couldn’t help but tug at his arm for a kiss. It was one way of not having to fully answer what he asked, plus he missed your lips before. Steve had been here fifteen minutes and you already felt a thousand times better, an effect you always appreciated about his presence. You hoped you did the same for him in his times of hardship.

“Yes. How are you?”

“I’m good! I had a lunch meeting today at the best coffee shop, I have to take you, you’d love it.  The guy I met was from Redwing Designs and he was very interested in working with us…”

He launched into the details of his firm’s upcoming building deal and you listened intently.  Architecture was a fascinating topic when Steve talked about it; his whole face lit up and his eyes sparkled when you asked follow-up questions about a particular topic.

You talked happily through dinner and the clean-up, before settling in to watch the show you’d started together. You snuggled up to his side and watched him flick through the Netflix guide. Season 4 had promised to be even more dramatic than the previous ones and you both were excited to see it play out.

“Oh, Y/N, about the Smithsonian: I do have a couple free passes…wanna go?”

“Now?” you asked, taking hold of Steve’s arm and squeezing it.  “It’s closed, hon.”

“Not now,” he confirmed, resting his hand on your hip to bring you more into him. “It’s up to you, but tomorrow works.”

“It does for me too, let’s go!”

“But we should be there early.”

“Okay.”

“So you’ll get up?”

“Definitely. I bought a loud alarm clock.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

“…what time does it open?”

Being cute must be a gift for him, for he was even when bashful. “Six thirty.”

You blinked.

“I know, I know, but it gets busy,” Steve said, pressing a quick kiss to your lips to prevent you from reaching for your phone and checking the opening times to see if he was serious. “It’s a really popular exhibit.”

“Not a problem, Stevie, we’ll go before the crowds.” Your hand rested on his chest to trace random patterns, knowing how much it would mean to him if he was the first one in line. The exhibit was right up his alley.

“It’s a date.”

His fingers ran through the strands of your hair and he started the show. You watched many episodes, possibly too many, since both of you began drifting off in the middle of particularly drama-filled scenes. You’d have to rewind, but Steve was so comfortable and he’d have to move to get the remote. Not an option if you could help it.

“Y/N, hon. It’s late, I should get home,” Steve murmured, shaking you oh so gently. You stopped his sleepy limbs from leaving and looked at him through half-lidded eyes. “Stay the night, please?”

He nodded, a smile stretching from ear to ear, one so bright it beat the television. “Okay.  Let’s go to bed, we might get sore necks here.”

“Sounds good,” you yawned while standing and pulling Steve to his feet. He enveloped you in a great big bear hug and you stayed like that a minute, using each other as a headrest until you felt yourselves about to fall asleep standing up.

”Let’s not fall over…that might make us more sore.”

You made a noise of agreement and let go.

Steve had clothes and a toothbrush at your place so your night routines were quick and simple.  While brushing your teeth you poked your head into your bedroom, where he was settling under the sheets. You observed while he fluffed with the pillows, making a face as he fiddled; after a few moments he switched the one on his side for the one on yours.  

You knew your bed. He had just made sure you got the fluffier pillow.

If it was possible to melt like an ice cube, you would have been a puddle on the floor. How did you get so lucky to be dating him? He even let your wear his sweater to sleep, even though he might not get it back right away. 

Since you weren’t made of ice, you melted into his embrace instead, nuzzling your face into his shirt and grasping at his back to get him closer.  

“Thank you for dinner,” he said in a whisper close to your ear.

“Thanks for coming. You always make everything better.”

“Anytime, Y/N, I’m always here for you.”

“And me, you.”

After you adjusted the blankets so he wouldn’t get cold you both said your goodnights and immediately fell asleep, curled into each other.  

* * *

**Saturday, 5:36 am**

There should be other methods for waking up. Alarm clocks were rude and persistent, two qualities that your least favourite colleague possessed and that you couldn’t stand as a duo.  Therefore, alarm clocks were almost as bad as Brock Rumlow. They only won because you could press a button to make them be quiet, a luxury you were not afforded when dealing with the human counterpart.

You felt around the bed for Steve, the result being warm sheets and no body. Frowning at the air temperature when you sat up and put your feet on the floor, you pulled the hood of Steve’s sweater over your head and opened your bedroom door, eyes still closed.  A promise was a promise. Meaning you needed to get ready for the museum and by extension it meant getting up.

There was a benefit to sleeping at your apartment: you’d mastered the art of walking from your bed to the coffeemaker without having to see.  Your mental map allowed you to do this without bumping into furniture, so you didn’t slow until you heard the music that grew louder as you approached the kitchen, music that you were pretty sure was 2000s-era Shakira. Yes, it was ‘Hips Don’t Lie’.

Opening your eyes, you were greeted to your very first sight of the morning, of Steve meandering around your kitchen, a whisk in one hand and a bowl in the other while he stirred pancake mix and mouthed the words of the song. His hair was sticking up in all directions and he was in a t-shirt and boxers and he was dancing.

All you could think was:

_I love him so much._

You leaned against the doorway, hands in sweater pockets and amused eyes on your boyfriend.  At the chorus he turned to the pan and poured the mix, the whole time swinging his hips; it was a movement that did everything to accentuate his booty-fullness, if that was even a word. If not then Steve was the new definition. A sweater paw had to cover your mouth when he threw his head back to hit a perfect high note after he flipped the pancake.

The longer you were the audience to this one-man performance the bigger your smile became, and the bigger the realization of how in love with him you were, until you couldn’t help but pad over and slide your arms around his waist.  

“Who the–? Y/N?”

“Morning, Steve.”

“H-how long have you been up?”

Somewhat reluctantly he put the spatula down and turned so he was leaning against the counter. You stepped between his legs so he wouldn’t wiggle away and ran your hands down his sides.  

“Long enough to see you moving your hips like Shakira.”

His face reddened and oh my, did you love him. “I thought you were asleep. You weren’t supposed to see, I was making breakfast…” A finger pointed between a vague direction of your bedroom and a pile of fresh pancakes, yet now his mouth didn’t seem to want to work. It was opening and closing without any sound coming out.

“Hey,” you said softly. To get his magnificent blue eyes to meet yours you ran a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. You loved him deeper than the cracks in your ceiling, more than morning coffee, and you thought you would burst if you kept those feelings inside. No matter that you hadn’t said the words to each other yet. Right now you were so full of love for Steve Rogers that you almost didn’t care if he didn’t say it back.  “I love you.” 

His mouth did the thing again and with a sheepish half-smile, “Even after that show?”

You nodded, grinning. “Hips don’t lie, and yours told a story I’d like to be part of.”

“Your chapter is the best one,” he whispered, a full smile decorating his face as he brought you chest to chest. “I love you too, Y/N.”   

Both of you said it a couple more times, trying out the words that tasted so sweet on the tongue. You felt so giddy you could fly to the Smithsonian, and it was all because of the man in front of you, who you loved and who loved you.

Steve reached over and turned off the stove so the last pancakes wouldn’t burn, and then said he loved you. You added them to the heaping plate, said you loved him.

Personally, you thought the pancakes wouldn’t need syrup–the three words would be sweet enough.

Shakira looped again, and you burst into giggles; the song must’ve been playing for quite a while before you got up.  Steve quickly joined in when you asked him if this was true.

“Yeah. I’m a dork.”

“You’re  _my_  dork, and I’m yours.”

“Awww.”

He pushed off the counter and took your hands to start dancing again, in which you eagerly took part. The performance definitely wasn’t as good as Shakira herself, but hey, it was early and fun. All good.

So maybe love at first sight does exist. But it doesn’t have to be the moment you meet a blind date, or meet someone you’ll see at work. It doesn’t even have to be the moment you lock eyes with a stranger across the room.

For you, it was at 5:45 on a sleepy Saturday morning where the very first picture of your day was Steve dancing and singing around in your kitchen. He was love at first sight. And that was much, much better.

**Author's Note:**

> okay Steve dancing to Shakira is something is the things of dreams and i couldn't pass up lmao


End file.
